


You are Home and I am Yours

by medelrey



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 12:31:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8578660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/medelrey/pseuds/medelrey
Summary: “Sleep here tonight,” she mumbles in his ear, her fingers playing at the hem of his tunic. “Protect me.” Her voice is innocent like the time she kissed him half on the mouth, but her eyes say otherwise. And there’s no way Jon can tell her no.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the prompt: Jon is actively avoiding Sansa because of his newly discovered parentage and feelings but that changes when Littlefinger's plot to steal Sansa back to the Vale is revealed to him

Jon doesn’t know quite how to feel. It’s like being put in the vanguard with no battle plans. and with no commander. It’s like falling down The Wall with only a broken rope to catch him. It’s like the world has spun on its axis and there’s no one there to steady him. 

He always wondered about his mother; whether it was true she was just some plain nursemaid, or worse, a whore in a brothel Ned Stark fell weak for. He never in a million years imagined he’d be the son of the once well-loved Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, a woman he’d only ever heard was taken by force. He would’ve liked to known her, he thinks. 

But now Jon’s caught between two worlds; Sansa had proclaimed him a Stark only months prior, the day he’d been named King in the North and she’d kissed the side of his mouth like it was an accident but smiled afterward, touching her lips, knowing exactly what she’d done. He’s not a Stark by name, never could’ve been, never will be, but he’s not a Snow, either, not anymore. And he doesn’t care to claim himself a Targaryen. 

So he spends his days in books, in the training yards, in the Godswood, hardly speaking to anyone. He sees Sansa watching him like a ghost, eyes begging him to talk but all he can think about is how his lips tingled after her kiss and the fact he’s no son of Ned Stark. Winterfell no longer feels like home, but where’s he to go? 

“Jon,” Sansa says, taking his hand one night after supper. “Talk to me.” 

He gazes at her pretty mouth and her soft cheeks and that precious hair but doesn’t say anything at all. Jon squeezes her hand and kisses her forehead, a fire burning between them before he’s out of the room and headed toward his chambers.   
xxx

A raven comes in the middle of the night, Brienne knocking so hard on his chamber door he thinks a war might have broken out. 

“I am sorry to disturb you, Your Grace, but you should see this. It comes from the Knights of the Vale.”

Jon takes the parchment, skin growing hot at the quickly written words. “He truly means to come take her as a consolation prize?” 

“He has told the men that’s the bounty he deserves.”

“Sansa’s not a gift to be given,” Jon says harshly, reaching for his tunic. “Does she know?”

“No, Your Grace."

“Good. I should be the one to tell her.” 

“They say he’ll ride for Winterfell in the morning.” 

“And he’ll never get past the gates.”

xxx

Sansa’s still awake when Jon knocks at her chambers; he can see the candle burning beneath the door as he waits for her to open up. 

“Jon?” She questions, eyes hesitant, her long hair down and falling over her shoulders and chest. “What is it?” 

“Lord Baelish means to ride to Winterfell to take you back to The Vale.”

Sansa blanches, taking a step back to allow Jon into her room. “What do you mean ride? Does he plan on a battle?”

“If he plans on taking you,” Jon replies, suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to cradle her in his arms and kiss her. Maybe he’s not a Stark, but Sansa’s the only home and comfort he knows.

In a moment of weakness or something else, Sansa rushes to Jon, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face into the crook of his neck. She shakes; she knows what it feels like to be bought and sold like some sort of prized possession. “How stupid I was to put us in his debt.”

“No,” Jon says, “You did what you had to do to survive.”

Jon cards his hands through her hair, holding her just as tightly as she does him. For the first time, he feels whole, like he’s found where he’s supposed to be and the world is tilted back straight. 

“If it’s a fight he wants, Sansa, it’s a fight he’ll get. And I doubt,” he whispers, “That his men are so loyal. They’re the ones who sold him out.”   
Her skin burns under his touch; just her cheek and her neck, but it’s there; that fire that rages like a furnace between them. He wonders if she feels the same.

“Sleep here tonight,” she mumbles in his ear, her fingers playing at the hem of his tunic. “Protect me.” Her voice is innocent like the time she kissed him half on the mouth, but her eyes say otherwise. And there’s no way Jon can tell her no. 

Jon crawls into her bed first before Sansa blows out the candle, cascading them in darkness. He feels the dip of the mattress as she sits beside him, on her knees. “I know how you feel. Nowhere to go but here, but it doesn’t really feel like home at all, does it? And how can you cope with your parentage? I’m a Stark in name but I don’t feel it anymore. Not after everything that’s happened.” 

Jon sighs, reaching for Sansa and pulling her against his chest. He kisses her boldly, without care, fingers tangling in her pretty red strands and his teeth nipping at her bottom lip. When he pulls back he begins to apologize, but Sansa stops him, her thumb between his lips.  “Winterfell doesn’t feel like home but you do. You’re the only thing tying me to Earth.” 

And she kisses him this time, months of pent up frustration falling out as she trails her lips across his jaw and down his neck, nipping at the skin as Jon hisses her name. “You’re mine,” Jon whispers, “No one will take you from me.” 

Sansa smiles like she always does, running her hands across Jon’s broad shoulders and breathing hard. “Do you want this?” She asks, straddling his thigh and grinding just a little to ease the ache he’s unknowingly begun. “It doesn’t matter if people think it’s wrong or right; do you want it?"

Jon catches Sansa by the cheeks, “No one, not the gods, not slimy Baelish will take you away.” She kisses him again, a little softer, as she rocks her hips, “Do you want this, Sansa? There’s no going back.” 

“I know,” she says, grinning like the sun is in her chest. “You are home and I am yours.”

Jon’s not sure when their clothes are strewn across the room or when he left a purple bruise on the side of her neck, but it doesn’t matter, not when Sansa’s laughing at the kissing of her neck and urging him downward. It doesn’t feel wrong when his head is buried between her thighs and she rocks against his tongue, spewing incoherent encouragements and fumbling through words Jon would never imagine Sansa saying. His fingers leave marks on her hips but it doesn’t matter; her fingers lace with his to drive them deeper.

She’s warm and wet, so very fucking sweet and gods, why has he avoided her for so long? He lets his hands roam her body as he licks, tracing her name, his, running circles around her bud until she’s whimpering his name in the most beautiful way and falling apart on his tongue. She bows off the bed when she comes, the syllables of his name falling from his lips with her fingers scraping his scalp as she rides out her orgasm. 

He could do that forever. 

Sansa pulls him up when she stops shaking, cheeks flushed and she can’t stop staring at the wetness on Jon’s face. But she kisses him, intrigued by the taste of herself and enjoys the way he moans and pulls her closer, hands on her arse. “I want you,” she says, eyes wide, “Just like this.”

She tosses a leg over his hip, Jon’s hand guiding his cock inside her. He grips her hips as he thrusts, going slow, feeling like she’s made just for him and this all must be a dream. But then she’s moaning and keening his name, arching her hips to get closer and fuck, if he hasn’t found heaven, this is pretty close. He watches her face as he fucks her, mouth wide with swollen lips. And Gods she’s fucking beautiful. 

He flips him so they’re chest to chest, Sansa whimpering in his ear and licking a stripe up his neck. She nips too, uncaring if there’s a hickey in the morning. Let everyone know who she’s with. Jon fucks her harder than he means to, but Sansa loves it, winding her legs around his back to hold him close. Her eyes roll back in her head as she feels like she’s going to explode; her second orgasm catching her off guard as she rakes her nails down his back. Jon loses his rhythm and fucks her senselessly until he pulls out, spilling across her hip and thigh. 

They stay like that for a moment, taking it in, catching their breath. Sansa grins, her eyes the brightest blue. “And you,” she says sternly, “Are mine. And you are home. Promise you’ll never leave. And if you do, I go, too. Home is only with you.”

“I promise,” he says, sealing it with a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm always on tumblr @ mattysigh


End file.
